The silence following the gunshot seemed very loud. Sobbing, Katy stood up, the rifle clenched tightly in her hands as she looked fearfully from side to side, afraid that more enemy warriors might be lurking in the vicinity. Long minutes passed, and the only sound in the forest was Katy’s labored breathing.
When she felt certain there were no more Crow warriors in the area, she went to kneel beside Iron Wing. Dear God, what if he was dead? The thought filled her with pain, but she did not stop to wonder why, she only knew she could not bear the thought of his death. A warm surge of relief washed through her as his eyes fluttered open.
Iron Wing stared up at Katy for a moment, then glanced past her to where the Crow warrior lay sprawled on the ground. A faint smile twitched Iron Wing’s lips as his eyes sought Katy’s face again.
“You saved my life,” he murmured, his voice sounding faintly amused.
“I saved my own life,” Katy countered, not wanting to think of the man she had killed. “Keep still.”
Rising, she pulled some moss from one of the trees and pressed it over the narrow gash in Iron Wing’s forehead to stanch the blood still seeping from the wound. That done, she knelt beside him, contemplating the broken shaft protruding from his thigh. The arrowhead, buried deep in the meaty part of his leg, would have to be removed, and she would have to do it. But knowing what had to be done, even knowing how to go about it, did not mean she was equal to the task. The arrow could not be pulled out. It would have to be driven through Iron Wing’s thigh and pulled out the other side. The very thought made her stomach churn. How much easier to hop on her horse and ride away.
Katy glanced at her horse standing passively only a few feet away, and then put the cowardly thought from her mind. Feeling Iron Wing’s gaze, she turned to find his dark eyes searching her face.
“Will you leave me now, Ka-ty?” he asked in a voice hoarse and filled with pain. “You have often wished me dead. Here is your chance to see that wish fulfilled.”
Katy scowled at Iron Wing, ashamed that he knew exactly what she had been thinking, ashamed that such an uncharitable thought had even crossed her mind. No matter how much she hated him, no matter how she longed to be free of his domination, she could not callously ride off and leave him to die alone.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Katy snapped. “And neither are you.”
Iron Wing did not answer her, but his dark eyes were filled with doubt.
“That arrow has got to come out,” Katy remarked, more to herself than to Iron Wing.
He nodded, his eyes still intent on her face.
“Can you turn on your side so I can get a good hold on the shaft?”
Iron Wing nodded again, grimacing as he shifted his big body onto his right side.
“This is going to hurt,” Katy said, stalling for time.
“I have been hurt before,” Iron Wing remarked quietly. There was no hint of accusation in his eyes, or in his voice, but Katy flushed guiltily as she vividly recalled the night she had plunged the knife into his shoulder. Looking at Iron Wing, she knew that he, too, was remembering that night. “Do it, Ka-ty,” he said. With a sigh, Katy took hold of the shaft near the end. One hard push should drive the arrowhead through Iron Wing’s thigh and out the other side.
She glanced at Iron Wing once more. His eyes were closed, his hands knotted into tight fists.
Murmuring, “Dear God, please help me,” Katy pushed on the shaft as hard as she could, felt the vomit rise in her throat as she felt the slim wooden shaft tear through meat and muscle and flesh.
Iron Wing gasped, shuddering convulsively, as the flint arrowhead tore through his thigh. Sweat broke out across his brow as Katy drew the arrow out of his leg, unleashing a torrent of bright red blood.
Katy let the wound bleed for a moment, hoping the rush of blood would cleanse the wound. Then, using more moss, she packed both holes and bound Iron Wing’s leg with the strip of red cloth she wore around her forehead to keep her hair out of her face.
Iron Wing was watching her again, his eyes dark with pain, his face pale. His mouth formed the word “water” but no sound emerged from his throat.
Nodding that she understood, Katy hurried to his horse and removed the waterskin tied around the animal’s neck.
Iron Wing drank deeply, and then went limp. Capping the waterskin, Katy removed the blanket from her horse’s back and spread it over the unconscious warrior. That done, she gently wiped the sweat from his brow. A sudden rush of tenderness engulfed her as she lifted the blanket and wiped the blood from his leg. Iron Wing moaned softly in his sleep and Katy stood up, blinking rapidly. Why did she suddenly feel like crying?
Gazing up at the sky, she realized it would soon be dark. Taking up the rifle, she went in search of the Crow ponies. Perhaps the Indians had some food packed on one of their horses. Or more water. From previous experience, she knew that wounded men craved water.
Katy found the Crow horses tethered to a tree some forty feet from where the two warriors had launched their ambush. Apparently they, too, had been hunting, for a freshly killed deer was slung over the withers of one of the horses. A pair of waterskins were draped around the neck of the second horse.
The Crow ponies snorted and shied at Katy’s alien scent, but they soon calmed down enough for Katy to lead them to where Iron Wing lay sleeping. Stripping the blankets from the horses, she spread one under Iron Wing. It took all her strength to roll him from side to side, and she was perspiring by the time the blanket was spread beneath him.
The two dead men were next on her list of things to do. Already, flies had swarmed over the corpses. As she was wondering how to dispose of them, she remembered seeing a dry wash a short distance down the hill, and she laboriously dragged the bodies to the wash and pushed them over the side. That done, she covered them with dirt and brush and rocks.
Exhausted, she gathered an armful of wood and carried it back to their campsite. She groaned softly as she dug a shallow pit with Iron Wing’s hunting knife and laid a fire, igniting it with a flint she found in Iron Wing’s war bag.
When Iron Wing regained consciousness, it was dark. Katy sat beside him, a blanket draped across her shoulders, his rifle within easy reach. A small fire burned brightly at their feet, its flames dancing over Katy’s face and hair.
“Ka-ty.”
She turned to face him, her brow furrowed with worry. “Are you hungry?” she asked. “Thirsty?”
Iron Wing nodded, wincing as the slight movement sent a shaft of pain darting through the side of his head.
Katy held the waterskin for him, then handed him a slice of venison she had cooked earlier. Iron Wing chewed the meat slowly, the simple task of eating draining him of what little energy he had.
Katy noticed he ate little of the meat, but he drank a great deal of water. She knew his thirst was caused by the amount of blood he had lost.
“Rest now,” she said, laying the waterskin aside.
Iron Wing’s eyes searched Katy’s face, noting the lines of tension and fatigue around her mouth and eyes, the smudge of dirt on one suntanned cheek.
“Will you be here when I wake up, Ka-ty?”
“Yes.”
“Will you?”
“I said yes,” Katy snapped. Then, in a softer tone, “I promise.”
Satisfied with her reply, he obligingly closed his eyes and was instantly asleep.
Katy remained awake the whole night long, too uneasy to close her eyes for even a few seconds. Her nerves were drawn tight as a drumhead. Every noise, every drifting shadow, filled her with apprehension as she imagined every wild beast known to man lurking in the dense underbrush, waiting to pounce on her. Visions of Crow warriors skulking nearby, ready to scalp her, or worse, did nothing to put her mind to rest.
Time and again she checked on Iron Wing to make certain he was still breathing. His moans of pain grieved her heart even as they assured her he was still alive. She did not stop to wonder at her concern for his welfare, concern t
hat far surpassed her fear of being alone in the woods late at night.
At last, as dawn began to brighten the skyline, her eyelids grew unbearably heavy and she closed her eyes and slept.
When Iron Wing awoke an hour later, the first thing he saw was Katy curled up beside him, one slim hand fisted tight around his rifle, the other resting on his arm.
He lay there, watching her, until she woke up several hours later.
Katy blushed self-consciously when she opened her eyes to find Iron Wing staring at her, his expression one of tender affection and admiration.
“You did not leave,” he said wonderingly.
“I said I would stay.”
A small smile turned up the corners of Iron Wing’s mouth. “I did not believe you.”
“Are you all right?” Katy stammered, wondering why her stomach was behaving so queerly. “Are you hungry, or anything?” She wished he would stop looking at her like that, as if she had done something wonderful simply by keeping her promise not to leave him.
“I need to relieve myself,” Iron Wing answered, trying to rise.
“You shouldn’t stand up,” Katy admonished.
“I can take care of myself.”
“At least let me help you,” Katy said, reaching out to take his arm.
“I do not need your help,” he retorted, shrugging her hand aside.
“Really?” Katy stood up, her hands fisted on her softly rounded hips as she regarded him through eyes flashing with anger. “Go ahead,” she challenged. “Get up so I can laugh when you fall flat on your face.”
Iron Wing’s eyes narrowed ominously. Mouth set in a determined line, he got to his knees, ignoring the slivers of pain that danced in his head and thigh. Gaining his feet, he stood, swaying slightly, all his weight balanced on his good leg. He knew immediately that Katy had been right. He should not have stood up.
Shaking her head at the ridiculous pride of some men, Katy went to stand beside Iron Wing, her shoulder braced under his left arm, her face turned away as he lifted his breechclout and relieved himself. When he was through, she helped him lie down on the blanket again.
“You might as well face it,” Katy said sternly. “You’re going to need my help for the next few days, and I intend to give it to you whether you like it or not.”
Iron Wing nodded meekly. She was right. Like it or not, he would have to depend on Ka-ty to take care of him until his strength returned.
The thought of spending another night out in the open made Katy uneasy. After making sure Iron Wing was resting as comfortably as possible, she took up his rifle and scouted the area until she found a small cave near a shallow stream. She spent the next half hour setting up house in the cave. She laid a fire in the back of the cavern where the flames would not be seen. Some green branches tied together with rawhide made a cooking rack. Some venison and herbs added to a pot of water made their dinner. While the soup cooked, she made up a bed for Iron Wing.
When everything was ready, she went back for Iron Wing. He could not mount his horse, and she could not lift him into the saddle and so, step by slow step, they made their way to the cave with Iron Wing leaning heavily on her shoulder for support.
It took thirty minutes to traverse the short distance to the cave, and they were both sweating profusely when they got there. Katy helped Iron Wing into the bed she had prepared for him, then slid to the ground, utterly weary. She felt a fleeting sense of satisfaction as she glanced around. The soup was bubbling, filling the cavern with a delicious aroma. Iron Wing was resting comfortably, the horses were tethered outside.
She longed to close her eyes for just a few minutes but instead she left the cave and returned to the site where the Crow attack had taken place. Carefully, she erased as much of their presence as she could. Then, using a leafy branch, she tried to brush out the tracks that led to the cave. She was sure any warrior worthy of the name would easily be able to follow her sign, but she did the best she could. She wasn’t a warrior, after all, just a white woman out of her element.
Back at the cave, she stirred the soup, checked on the horses. Iron Wing was sleeping. Quietly, she touched his forehead. Did it seem hotter than before, or was it her imagination?
When he woke sometime later, she fed him some of the soup. He had little appetite, but he drank deeply from the waterskin, then slept again.
Weary to the bone, Katy went outside to pull some grass for the horses to eat. That done, she returned to the cave, curled up in a blanket, and was asleep as soon as she closed her eyes.
Katy woke with a start. For a moment, she stared at her surroundings, unable to recall where she was, or what had happened to her. Then it came again, a long, low wail. Rising quickly, she went to Iron Wing’s side. She did not need to touch him to know he was burning with fever. Perspiration dotted his brow, the blanket was tossed aside.
“Iron Wing?”
His eyes fluttered open, but there was no recognition in his dark-eyed stare.
Frightened, Katy covered him again, offered him a drink of water. He gulped the water greedily, then fell back. With a sense of dread, Katy checked the wound in his thigh. As she had feared, the wound had festered. It was red and swollen, oozing with pus.
She began to shiver convulsively as she picked up Iron Wing’s knife and laid it over the fire to heat. The wound would have to be lanced and then cauterized. She moved woodenly, trying not to think of what she had to do.
When the blade was glowing bright red, she took it from the fire. Now that it was sterilized, she waited for it to cool before she inserted the sharp point of the blade into the edge of the wound. Iron Wing groaned softly as a torrent of thick yellow pus drained from the wound. With her fingertips, Katy pressed on the infected area, forcing out more of the thick yellow pus.
When she was certain she had all the pus out of the wound, she washed his thigh with warm water and herbs. Then, drawing a deep breath, she reheated the blade of the knife.
Katy stared at the blade, mesmerized by the white heat. How could she touch that bit of hot metal to Iron Wing’s flesh? Taking a deep breath, she glanced at his face. He seemed to be sleeping. She wished he was unconscious so he would not feel the pain.
Abruptly, she sat on his feet, hoping her weight would be enough to hold him down as, she laid the glowing blade on the wound. Iron Wing began to thrash about as the heated metal touched his skin. An anguished wail filled the cave and then he fainted. Lifting the blade, Katy turned away, sickened by the odor of singed flesh that rose in her nostrils. It was an awful smell, one she was sure she would never forget.
That night was the longest she had ever known. She bathed Iron Wing’s body with cool water as his fever mounted, covered him with the lightest blanket they had so he would not catch a chill, gave him water, and prayed as she had never prayed before. Over and over her heart cried the words. “Please, God, don’t let him die. I’ll be so good, just don’t let him die.”
When the chills came, she piled all the blankets on top of him and when he still trembled violently, she slipped under the covers and drew him close. He tossed restlessly until, not knowing what else to do, she began to talk to him. She told him about her childhood in Mesa Blanca, about how her mother had never seemed to love her, about how she had idolized her father. She described the people in the town, smiling as she told him about funny old Mr. Quigly who lived alone in a ramshackle house with thirteen cats and an old red bone hound. She told him about her days in school, and how she had hated having to learn to read and write and cipher. Her tone was soft, soothing, and gradually Iron Wing grew still, calmed by the sound of her voice.
Katy lay beside him until the fever came again and he began to toss wildly, mumbling incoherently. Once she tried to put his arms under the covers, only to have his flailing fist catch her on the side of the jaw. Dazed, she tumbled to the ground. She stayed there for a moment, rubbing her jaw, while stars danced before her eyes. Rising, she covered Iron Wing, careful to stay clear of his flailing
arms. His words became clearer and she realized he was reliving his encounter with the grizzly. He cried aloud, and then brought his hand down hard, as if he were driving his knife into the bear. It grieved Katy to see him racked with pain and fever, lost in a memory that had been hurtful.
Abruptly, he stopped battling the ghost of the bear and his voice grew soft, tender. In spite of herself, Katy leaned forward, her ears straining to hear what he was saying. She heard the name Quiet Water, saw his face twist with rage as the Indian woman scorned his offer of marriage.
Unable to watch the sorrow on his face, Katy called his name. He turned immediately toward her voice, his eyes searching for her. “Ka-ty?”
“I’m here.”
He reached for her hand, held it tight as he fell into a deep sleep.
She sat there the whole night long, while her hand grew numb and her body stiff from sitting in the same position. Outside, the night slipped away and morning dawned bright and clear. Unaccountably, she began to weep.
By midmorning, Iron Wing seemed a little improved. His forehead did not seem quite so hot. When he awoke, his eyes were clear. His expression darkened when he saw the purple bruise on the side of her jaw.
“What happened?” he demanded in a raspy voice.
“You hit me.”
Iron Wing frowned, not wanting to believe her.
“You didn’t mean to,” Katy said. “You were delirious at the time.”
“Does it hurt?”
“A little.” She waited, but he did not say he was sorry. Perhaps he wasn’t, she thought irritably. “Are you hungry?”
Iron Wing nodded, his eyes never leaving her face.
Going to the back of the cave, Katy took a strip of dried venison from the rack and gave it to Iron Wing. He chewed the meat slowly. She was pleased when he ate it all and asked for more. An increased appetite was a good sign, wasn’t it? She offered him the waterskin, held his head while he drank.
His dark eyes drew Katy like a magnet. As if she had no will of her own, she laid the waterskin aside and moved into his arms. Gently, he pulled her down beside him, one arm around her shoulders, the other resting lightly across her waist. Once, he touched her bruised jaw with the tips of his fingers and his eyes filled with remorse.
Love in the Wind Page 10
